Page 5 of Provoked

“Is that so? I may look you up when I am next in Edinburgh. I have a few legal matters that I need attended to.”

“I am an advocate, Mr. Balfour. I only deal with court cases. If you need a will or some property deeds drawn up, you will need to engage a solicitor, though I would be happy to recommend someone.”

Balfour gave him a long, unsmiling look. “I know what an advocate is, Mr. Lauriston.”

Again, David felt discomfited. “I apologise,” he said stiffly, “it’s just that people often confuse the two professions.” Now he sounded pompous.

“No need to apologise,” Balfour replied easily, returning his attention to his plate. “This is an excellent pie,” he added, changing the subject. He glanced at David’s half-eaten effort. “It’s a crime to leave so much uneaten.”

“I’m afraid I’m not especially hungry.”

“With the greatest respect, you look as though you could use a bit of feeding up.”

“You sound like my mother,” David replied before he could think better of it.

Balfour laughed at David’s waspish tone, his mouth curving, a deep dimple flashing in his cheek. “Well, mothers are usually right about these things.” The laughter lines at the corners of his dark eyes crinkled when he laughed, making him look suddenly much less cynical and worldly.

That infinitesimal change in expression inexplicably lightened David’s mood; he gave a reluctant laugh of his own. “She gets annoyed with me when I forget to eat,” he admitted.

“You forget toeat?”

Balfour sounded so horrified that David couldn’t help but laugh again. “Not for long, but I do miss the odd meal. I’m not married, you see. It’s easily done when I’m working—I lose track of the time.”

Balfour gave him another of those direct, amused looks. “Now, why am I not surprised to hear that you’re a bachelor, Mr. Lauriston?”

That was an odd thing to say, David thought. What did he mean by it? David didn’t want to jump to unwarranted conclusions, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the man shared David’s own inclinations.

Balfour leaned forward, his intent gaze fixed on David. “Tell me, Mr. Lauriston—” But before he could say more, the door opened again. This time it was Mrs. Fairbairn, come to clear the plates away. Balfour sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I’ve got a suet pudding if you’d like, gentlemen?” she told them, looking disappointed when they both declined.

As she walked away, laden with dishes, David realised that this meant the meal was over and was surprised at how the thought dismayed him. Just as the landlady reached the door, he called out impulsively, “Mrs. Fairbairn—”

She looked over her shoulder, a question in her eyes.

“Could you bring us some whisky?”

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll be back directly.”

Only after the door closed behind her did it occur to David that he ought to have asked Balfour first if he wanted to join him. He glanced at the other man. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me. Please don’t feel obliged to join me if you’d rather go to bed.”

“Not at all,” the other man said. “I quite fancy a whisky myself. I only drink the stuff when I’m in Scotland, and the first dram is always the best.”

Moments later, the landlady was back with two small jugs, one of whisky and one of water, and two dram glasses. She poured the two men a generous nip each and left the rest on the table, promising, at David’s insistence, to add the cost to David’s bill. As soon as she was gone, David threw back the first measure, relishing the burn down his gullet. Balfour was right, the first dram was always the best.

He poured himself another, fighting the urge to throw that back too, letting it sit in the glass untouched. He told himself he’d not take another drink till Balfour had finished his own dram, but that was easier said than done. Balfour sipped slowly, contemplatively, his long body relaxed and comfortable.

At last David gave in. He picked up the second measure and swallowed that too, setting his glass down with a small bang on the mahogany table. He made no immediate move to replenish his glass, but his forbearance was to no avail—Balfour picked up the jug this time and topped David’s small glass off, doubling the measure this time.

“Before the landlady came in, I was about to ask you something,” Balfour said as he added a little water to his own glass, diluting the spirit.

“Oh yes? What was that?”

Balfour smiled, as relaxed as though he were proposing a game of cards. His dark gaze grew languid and inviting. “Do you really need to ask?”

David’s heart began to race. He was almost sure what Balfour was alluding to, but there remained a hint of doubt, and the dangers attendant upon such misunderstandings were great.

“I would appreciate some—clarification,” David replied carefully.